Writing is like traveling. It takes us to unimagined places.
Although that’s a bit obvious and simplified, sometimes I believe the journey afforded me as a writer has been nothing short of arduous and rough going. Like mountain climbing. When is it going to get easier, I often ask myself? At times I want to give up, but eighteen years into this and I’m still pushing myself over rough terrain to get something worthwhile down onto a page, and better yet have someone else like it enough to publish it.
The difficult part is feeling like I have to prove myself to others...
… when what I should be doing is spending a lot less time worried about what other people are going to think of me and get buckling. Why am I worried about what others will think? I’m quite certain I haven’t been frittering too much, but I want to be perceived as industrious and capable and I worry instead that I will be seen as wasting my time. I think writers understand this. We fight the need to have to prove ourselves. We want progress. But you want to know what I figured out?
I am writing for me.
I write because I want to go places in my heart and in my mind, and so I do. I love that about traveling. I get to see more of what I’m made of and ultimately what I’m capable of. I think this can translate into all that we do and I hope you find yourself traveling to unlock more of what you’re capable of.